


Some kind of nightmare.

by TooAceForThisShit



Series: Bokuroo week 2020 [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A lot of Hurt, Aged Up, BoKuroo Week, BoKuroo Week 2020, Cuddling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Magic AU, Panic Attacks, Sick Fic, Time Fuckery, Time Travel, Vomiting, powers, sick fic sorta, ubetaed we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23504632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooAceForThisShit/pseuds/TooAceForThisShit
Summary: One second Tetsurou was sparing and the next he was opening his eyes in a room he didn’t recognize.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou
Series: Bokuroo week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686172
Comments: 4
Kudos: 89





	Some kind of nightmare.

**Author's Note:**

> is this good? no. did i write a lot today? i sure did

One second Tetsurou was sparing and the next he was opening his eyes in a room he didn’t recognize, he remembers blocking then blinking debris out of his eyes, the room is painted a light grey-blue, so it’s not the nurse’s office, he looks around the room, everything is clean and pristine, minus the basket by the door that’s slumping over with clothes, pictures on the walls of obscure animals, pictures of people he can’t make out from where he’s laying. 

He sits up, almost regretting it right away when his head swims, his vision blurs a moment before things settle around him. His heart is beating a mile minute, where is he? What the fuck, this doesn’t look anything like anywhere he’s been. 

Okay, don’t panic, first things first. He looks around for a phone, spotting one, with a red case, he grabs it hoping it’s supposed to be his, it doesn’t look like the same model he has now but he takes a chance when the phone unlocks right away under his fingerprint, he almost lets out a relieved sigh but there’s nothing to be relieved about yet, first he needs to know where he is, and how he can get back, he’s not supposed to be worrying whatever the fuck this is, he’s supposed to be training and sparring and maybe worry about homework. 

But that’s it, because, for god’s sake, he’s only sixteen. 

First things first, he looks at the calendar, he stares at the year for a long time, longer than he needs because right there looking him in the face, is 2021 April 5th. 

What the fuck.

It’s been a decade since… he would be 26. Fucking twenty-six. 

That’s when it hits him, he drops the phone, hearing it hit the ground he scurries out of bed when he gets to the first door, he creaks it open slowly, then shuts it just as softly when he notices it goes out into the hall, he tries the other door and opens the last, when he finally gets to the bathroom, he stands outside of the door. 

What if he’s still his sixteen-year-old self? That wouldn’t be too bad, he thinks? Maybe it would’ve been worse, he doesn’t even know what to think at this point. 

When he can’t take his own thoughts anymore, he walks in, tile cold under his feet, he doesn’t stop until he’s face to face with the mirror staring at his feet a moment longer, he chances a glance up, he… 

He’s definitely not sixteen. 

Yet is also him, alarmingly so, same eyes same hair, the same fucking bedhead, good to know what all his hard work of fixing it are for nothing, but besides that… nothing is the same, he grew into his height instead of looking gangly, and he has piercings and tattoos like a lot of them.

A lip ring, a septum, too many earrings to count he doubt they’re comfortable to lay on, and tattoos many swirling tattoos, all in dark blacks or grey with the rare red thrown in. 

And he thinks he’s going to be sick. 

He wants to scream but from the looks of the bathroom, he’s not the only one living here two toothbrushes, two housecoats, two towels on the wrack, everything is matched, and he feels sick all over again for a very different reason. 

He barely makes it to the toilet before he’s emptying his stomach into it, he falls back to the floor after, falling none too gracefully to his ass, he stares at his hands, god even his hands don’t look like his. 

Scars are lining his knuckles and palms, his fingers boney and long, and fuck, he feels tears spring to his eyes hot, and unforgiving.  
Of course, this would happen to him. 

He doesn’t know how this happened, he wasn’t… he wasn’t doing anything. 

He doesn’t hear the sound of the door, his ears are ringing, his hiccuping breaths are the only thing he can hear, he feels hopeless. 

It’s not until he hears a gasp, that his head snaps up and his brain stops working, suddenly he forgets everything, the tears and how he doesn’t know where he is, because-

Bokuto Koutarou is standing in the doorway. 

And he looks nothing like the boy he met two years ago, he’s tall, he’s grown into his bulk, and his hair is sticking up in the same fashion as it always is, and he looks like he could crush him with his thighs. 

He doesn’t have any visible tattoos, from the looks of it nor many piercings only three earrings marrying his ears. 

Tetsurou can’t bring himself to say anything in shock, but Bokuto doesn’t seem to have that problem because before he knows it, rough hands are touching his face, holding it like it’s the most treasured thing he’s ever held. 

He’s his mouth his moving, he can’t hear what he’s saying over the ringing, and he’s starting to panic only clearing a bit so he can hear what he’s saying. 

And it does nothing to help with the ringing or the racing thoughts. 

“--Tets? baby? Hey hey hey, are you ok? You’re starting to freak me out, I knew you should’ve--- hey, look at me? Are you feeling sick? That’s so dumb of course you are.” 

He doesn’t think he can do anything, he’s a deer caught in headlights staring at Bokuto, his eyes are sincere and worry plaguing them, and he faintly feels like he should be the one comforting him. 

“Tetsurou.” he snaps out of it. 

He opens his mouth and flounders for words, he can’t say he doesn’t belong here, he can’t say anything because how is anyone supposed to help he’s--he’s. 

He wishes he still had his phone so he could contact Kenma, Kenma would be good, he knows him, he always helps and calms him down and he doesn’t make Tetsurou feel this fucking useless.

He doesn’t get looked after, Tetsurou looks after others, and these things, whatever this thing doesn’t happen to him. 

This shouldn’t happen to anyone. 

And then Bokuto’s voice is filtering in through his ears sounding crystal clear, shocking enough for his eyes to jerk back up to Bokuto’s gold eyes, and he’s talking again. 

His voice ten times more concerned than before, it throws his brain through another loop, “Baby, I need for you to say something to me, so I know what’s going on.” 

“Um, Bokuto?” the dizziness from before seems to make itself known again, his vision goes spotty, he wants to say sorry but before he can he pitches forward his vison growing completely dark. 

_

Tetsurou feels his body wake slowly, he can tell before he opens his eyes that the dizziness as subsided for now, not nearly as much as he wants it too, still creeping along the edges. 

He almost thinks he’s back home in his bed, and his moms gonna come by soon and wake him up until he hears the voice. 

The voice he spends way too much time thinking about, and everything flies in and hits him back in the gut in one fall swoop, leaving him reeling for all different reasons than before. 

He’s in a house, in a body he’s not supposed to have for another ten years, with his crush who calls him baby. 

And that’s weird no one in his life has called him that before, not even in a joking matter, because nothing about him warrants cutesy nicknames. 

His heart goes into overdrive as he listens to the conversation that sounds like it’s coming from the other room. 

He pushes the ringing in his ears and tries to focus on the cadence of Bokuto’s voice, and who he’s talking about, he doesn’t have to wait long to figure it out. 

“--I know, I’m worried, Keiji. He’s been worried since-- No I know, it’s just…” he gets quiet, he almost thinks he missed something when he hears the rumbling of his voice again, “He threw up, and he wasn’t talking, and he fainted! Like, and I’m--No Keiji you’re-- yeah umm you’re right-- It’s--I, it’s been a long year, yeah I’m gonna call him next.”

His stomach lurches, and he squeezes his eyes shut, hoping and praying to some god to take him back home, anything.

Reopening his eyes, nothing’s changed, he’s still sat in the bed, sheets tangled around his legs, his shirt sticking to his chest. He tries to sit up, only to fall back down into the pillows, he stares at the ceiling. 

That’s when Bokuto starts talking again in, a soft voice, he feels like he’d be more shocked about the level of Bokuto’s voice and the way he’s using it. 

The Bokuto he knows is loud and moody, and loving, and has bad control over his voice levels. 

“Kenma, hi--How did you know? Is this like some weird childhood friend thing I’ll never understand?” 

Tetsurou almost smiles at that. Almost. 

“Yes, since That day,” he states, stressing the that’s, “Yes, he was fine for a few days and then he started to go downhill and now--Well he was sick this morning, and---He, uhh called me Bokuto?” Bokuto sounds heartbroken as he says the last bit like it’s weird for him to call him that. 

And maybe it is here, for this Tetsurou to call him by his first name, and call him his own sickeningly sweet endearments, for all he knows he could be married to Bokuto. 

Butterflies erupt in his stomach, he doesn’t know when his eyes close, but the next thing he knows there’s a hand running through his hair and another weight on the bed. 

The conversation in the other room long over, his whole body feels heavy. 

He doesn’t know how he would’ve reacted to wake up with someone, no Bokuto touching his hair, he probably would’ve fallen out of bed, if he didn’t feel like he’d throw up again if he moves too fast. 

He struggles to open his eyes, and as soon as he sees the face looking down at him he wants to close them, he can’t face Bokuto love staring him right in the face. 

Love meant for an older Tetsurou who’s not a really a messed up kid. 

“Hey,” the smile he gives him is like the sun after a rainstorm, breathtaking and too bright for looking straight at, his eyes can’t stay locked on to his for long before he feels guilt eating at his brain. 

“Tetsu, How are you feeling?” 

The nicknames are going to be the death of him he decides not the fever he no doubts has, all the butterflies are going to eat him up from in the inside just from him. 

He always knew Bokuto was going to be the death of him. 

His mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls as he goes to talk, “fine, how are you.” his voice makes him wince, rough and deeper than he remembers, the ringing in his ears still present. 

He’s pulled out of thinking about the state of his mouth with Bokuto pushing a cup of beautiful, beautiful water, Bokuto’s frowning down at him, his eyebrows frowned his mouth set, he almost doesn’t recognize him. 

He decides then he much prefers happy Bokuto, okay maybe not then he’s known this for a long time. He’ll do anything to make sure a smile stays on Bokuto’s face. 

“None of that, you’re not worrying over me, we’re talking about you.” Bokuto sounds determined, he studies the glass when it threatens to tip in his grasp. 

He takes another blessed gulp so he doesn’t have to reply, he wants to fight that, say something about how he just wants to help people and to hell with what happens to him, but he thinks that would make this station worse, so he bites his tongue and drinks his water and waits for the nausea to clear. 

Bokuto doesn’t take his eyes off him for a second, taking the water once he’s done, he goes back to playing with his hair. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I-uh. sick.” 

“Yeah, I can see that.” 

“No,” he shakes his head, and regrets it right afterwards, “I’m going to throw up again,” 

Bokuto’s eyes widen and normally he’d find humour in it, but he couldn’t, not when a bucket was being forced into his hands and his stomach was lurching and not just for feelings. 

There are no butterflies here. 

“Jeez, he really did a number on you huh?” Bokuto says after he’s done heaving. 

Who’s he? 

He’s starting to gather whatever happened didn’t happen because something he did, it had to be the other Tetsurou. 

He wants to ask more questions, but he can’t without drawing more suspicion to himself, he already messed up with calling Bokuto by the wrong name and that wasn’t his fault really seeing as he didn’t expect to call him anything else. 

He can’t end up with Bokuto, it’s impossible for Bokuto to return his feelings. 

This has to be another timeline, another world because there’s no way Bokuto, his Bokuto could feel this way about him. Not enough to move in with him and call him, him, Kuroo Tetsurou, baby. That just didn’t make any sense. 

Unless this is some really elaborate dream. 

He almost wants to reach out for his power, but he knows that could be stupid now not knowing how much control he has over it, he hopes he has better control over it than he does currently, or before? 

Not long after Bokuto’s excusing himself, saying he’ll be back in a bit, and if he needs anything to just call, pressing a kiss to his forehead and taking his leave. 

He sits frozen afterwards, his face feeling all too warm, and everything else feeling leeched of heat. 

He hears the door lock faintly, and that’s when starts the process of getting out of bed, and what a process it is, once he’s sort of study on his feet, he has to hold on to the wall when he takes a sudden turn to the right, he manages to get to the bedroom door creaking it open to make sure there are no more surprises waiting for him in the corridor when the coast is clear he takes to walking slowly and silently as he can down the hall. 

The house is small, if not an apartment, a small kitchen with a half wall in one corner and the living room in the centre of the room, and another half bath from the looks of a dark room, so no children, he almost gets on his collapses in relief at that, he only notices the cat when he goes to sit down before he can’t walk anymore, the cats a small grey fluff still a kitten really, and Tetsurou’s heart swells as the kitten takes to sitting on him when he nearly crushed him, he wishes he knew the cat’s name but he doesn’t just keep petting the kitten and tries not the think. 

He finds himself relaxing into the couch, feeling the most calm since all of this started in the morning. 

He finds himself tensing when he hears the key in the lock and voices outside the door, yes voices, not just Bokuto but also a lowering voice, talking softly right along with his. 

The kitten looks up at him when he stops petting him, noticing his mood shift, he doesn’t bolt just takes to cleaning itself. 

Bokuto’s still talking as he enters, “He’s just in here--oh.” 

He sees Kenma first, his hair long and all brown well past his shoulders, his eyes just as piercing, he studies him before he says anything, Tetsurou tries to calm his heartbeat as his oldest friend continues to stare instead of talk, Kenma looks starkly like how his Kenma looks and nothing like him at the same time, he gulps, Kenma takes his hand out of his pocket and waves at him smiling softly, it changes his whole face and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

“Hi, Tetsurou,” 

Jeez, what the fuck is wrong with older people and using first names. 

He nods his greeting, “Kenma.” 

His heart is in his throat as Bokuto appears over Kenma’s shoulder. “Tetsu, you’re supposed to be in bed,” 

Kenma snorts beside Bokuto, Bokuto gives him a warning look which Kenma ignores because he hasn’t stopped looking at him, “Figures he’s with the cat.” 

Kenma stays in the doorway a second longer before he’s walking over, and sitting next to him, he starts petting the cat, Tetsurou feels wired, nothing like how he’s normally with Kenma so he forces himself to relax and reminds himself not to look into Kenma’s eyes that’s when there’s trouble.

Having a best friend who can read your mind when he looks into your eyes you become used to looking at your hands. 

It helps that Kenma mostly keeps his eyes to himself, not tapping into his power much he hopes its the same for this Kenma who knows how much stronger he’s gotten.

“Hello, apples.” 

“That’s not her name,” Bokuto says from the door still seemingly stunned. He doesn’t stay there for much longer much to Tetsurou’s displeasure, he comes and sits beside him, leaning into his space, putting his hand on his forehead to check his temperature, he ignores the look Kenma gives him when he freezes under his touch not knowing if he should lean into it or away. 

His hand blessedly doesn’t stay for long, a frown on Bokuto’s face once more, “No temperature, are you still dizzy.” 

“A little.” 

“Koutarou can you give me and Tetsurou a moment?” its not a question, and look he’s giving Bokuto gives nothing away. 

Bokuto nods, he heads for the bedroom, giving him one last concerned look like he’s going to disappear if he’s out of sight for a moment. 

Kenma clears his throat then, well he’s still looking after Bokuto, he snaps back to Kenma choosing to stare at the bridge of Kenma’s nose, “You’re avoiding my eyes, what’s going on.” 

He looks away unsure of what Kenma is going to ask, he keeps his sights on the cat, who’d never judge him, or at least silently judge him. 

He hasn’t avoided Kenma’s eyes in years, not since they were in middle school, he trusts his friend enough to use his power wisely, yet this Kenma is setting off alarm bells left right and centre. 

But this is different, he has to figure this out himself. 

As soon as the door is safely shut behind Bokuto, Kenma really starts his line of questioning. “Are you still sick from the fight?” 

Fight? 

He shrugs, that doesn’t seem enough for Kenma seeing as he doesn’t acknowledge it at all moving on. “Okay, are you and Bokuto fighting? Did you overuse your power?” 

He shakes his head, and thinks on the second, he is prone to get motion sickness every once in a while when he oversteps his powers, but it doesn’t feel like that, this isn’t the same as getting a little dizzy and having to take a break for a day or two after overusing his teleporting. 

“No, it doesn’t feel like that.” he knows what feels like and this is definitely not the same, he feels like he was disassembled put together in the wrong order and then put in a blender on top, now he’s a pile of mush and he can’t even walk straight. 

Kenma nods his head in understanding knowing all too well what his own eyestrain is like, and what Tetsurou’s like when he’s overused his own. 

It almost wants to ask and see if their powers are the exact same as home if this is another timeline would they have the same powers?

He still doesn’t dare risk looking at Kenma, this isn’t his Kenma he has to keep reminding himself. 

_

Kenma doesn’t stay much longer, it’s late at night by the time he leaves, Bokuto having returned and hadn’t left his side the whole entire time well Kenma and Bokuto held idly chat, he spaced out, he didn’t know what to do and he wasn’t well enough to do anything, he wanted to leave this house and run for as long as he legs could carry him. 

He didn’t but he thought about it, he tuned out everything, and let Bokuto help him get back to bed when Kenma left, as much as he didn’t want to lean on him he had to. 

He was laid down all to gently, and the way Bokuto brushed back his hair with such care like he was really here and not in some kind of dreamland.

It’s not until Bokuto moves away and to the other side of the bed he realizes that he has to share one, which of fucking course they do, they’re whatever they are. His whole body feels like a livewire, and he can’t breathe for a moment until he’s safely in the dark, and he can’t see anything but the dim white of the ceiling.

When he feels a hand around his waist he tenses, waits for something more but the hand just rests there, he can feel Bokuto’s breath on his neck, and he can’t help but relax back into him as if even though he’s in the wrong body, this body knows. 

_

The next few days he tries to keep as low as a profile as possible, there’s still a lot of conversations he hears from what he learns in the office from his spot in bed, Bokuto pretty much banning him from walking further than the bathroom by himself. 

Which is ridiculous if you ask him. 

He still wants to run but he’s started to fall into a calm that he can’t figure out, so he waits and waits. 

And listens, and tries to understand how Bokuto can be home so much with him, and how Tetsurou doesn’t seem to have a job at all? Or maybe he’s on leave. 

He tries to listen in for any word of a fight, of something happening, and he can’t. 

Kenma doesn’t come back around the three days he survives by himself, Bokuto’s still have quiet conversations, and giving him long calculating looks in between taking care of him. 

He’s almost comfortable if things weren’t so goddamn weird. 

And everything, everything Bokuto does reminds him of his Bokuto-- okay not his Bokuto, but sixteen-year-old Bokuto, who laughs too loud and talks too fast, and hugs too tightly that Tetsurou feels like he’s going to break apart. 

He aches for younger Bokuto with the too big grins and the--No, he shakes his head, he’s sitting on the couch well Bokuto does whatever, with the cat in his lap.  
It had been quiet most of the day, and really quiet for the whole three days. Tetsurou kept thinking of things to say and always didn’t say anything, he knows he wasn’t acting like himself but who knows what he was even supposed to act like at all. 

Which is weird when Bokuto poses a question, from somewhere over his shoulder. 

“So, our anniversary is coming up,”

“Um. yeah?” he says, petting the cat, rubbing behind ears her ears.

He doesn’t know how it happens but one moment he’s busy petting the cat and the next, the cat is gone Bokuto’s right there, and pinning him to the couch, gripping his wrists tightly by his sides enough to hurt, and Bokuto’s looking at him like he’s never seen him. 

Tetsurou tries to figure out what he could’ve done to deserve this, Bokuto would never do this, maybe this really is a nightmare and all the things that he gathered to make sense of the station falls apart in that moment all the facts pointing to this being the future. 

Even when his dad called and he almost wept hearing his voice none of that matters because this is a dream and he’s going to wake up, sweaty and panicking not being able to breathe. 

Bokuto’s seething, and the ringing his back full time, Bokuto’s decided he’s well enough to hurt, and he’s going to be hurt. 

“Our anniversary is in the fall, who are you and what have you done to Tetsurou, is this some kind of sick plan? who are you?” his voice is deep and demanding, and he freezes, his lungs ceasing functioning. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing for his too-small bed, and stale cereal. 

He desperately wishes to be anywhere else. 

He would take ten nightmares of his mother leaving over this, anything but this. 

Bokuto looking at him with such hatred. 

“Tell me.” 

Tetsurou chokes, and keeps his eyes tightly shut, “I don’t know.” 

“Bullshit.” he can’t open his eyes if he opens his eyes which means this is real. 

“I don’t know!” he all but yells, which he thinks is the loudest thing he’s said this whole time, that seems to open the damn because he can’t stop talking after, “I don’t know, one minute I was training, and the next I was here! And Nothing made sense! I didn’t know what to do,” He knows tears are streaming down his cheeks, almost in the same state as when he was first found by Bokuto, “I don’t know where I am, I swear one second I was 16 and training with--with you! Sixteen year old you! And then I was waking up in this body, in that bed, and--” he can’t talk his lungs gone for good, he’s panting deep uneven breaths, and nothing is steadying it, he’s not here, he’s not here, and the ringing is back, his head pounding, he can feel his heart in his ears. 

He doesn’t feel the hands leave him or the weight on him being lifted until he’s being forced to sit up, and there are arms around him, he feels dizzy and confused, and he can’t hear anything, but he feels rumbling on his back, and he knows Bokuto’s talking, he thinks that’s Bokuto. 

Bokuto’s voice comes through shockingly clear after, likes static clearing after finding an in range voice. 

“Why didn’t you tell me, we could’ve I don’t know-” He sounds guilty, and he feels the arms loosening around him pulling back and holding him at arm’s length. “It makes so much more sense, the way you reacted to affection and all of that is like when--” He cuts himself off, his voice turning a light pink that would’ve made him happy if it was his Bokuto. 

And then the doors creaking open in the front hall and Kenma’s standing there, he looks at both of them, his gaze going from one to the other. 

“Kenma, come here,” Bokuto says, and then Kenma’s nodding and stepping forward and he’s tipping Tetsurou’s face up to his, and their eyes are locking. 

And all sounds stop, he’s felt Kenma’s magic before, and it washing over him is different, it feels warm like drifting into sleep. 

And nothing matters, he’s fine, he’s nothing, he can almost reach out and touch Kenma his presence, he’s floating. 

The water slowly drifts away, like the ocean pulling back around him, the ringings stopped, he’s still relaxed, he can hear voices, but those don’t matter, nothing matters. 

The softly voices start to drift in, not all at once, only a few words at a time, like he’s learning all over again. 

“Kenma--did you have to go that hard all at once--he’s--” 

“Tetsu.” 

Then he can hear everything, but his tongue feels too heavy to move, so he waits, he doesn’t care, it’s fine, he’s at the beach. 

“He’s fine, Koutarou. If I didn’t do that it would’ve been too jarring, he was too panicked still.” this voice is soft, and quiet, and makes him feel comfortable. 

“Is it true?” and this voice, a deep timbre with worry tinged in this one is home. 

“Yes, that’s not our Tetsurou, but it always was him. Definitely sixteen-year-old Tetsurou.” 

“I guess that makes sense, he didn’t even reach for his ability when I first accused him.” 

Water cascades around him, and suddenly everything’s in focus, the couch under him is soft, and his head is still distantly pounding, he looks up at Kenma. 

“You believe me.” 

Kenma shrugs, “I knew something was up when you wouldn’t look me in the eyes, you also weren’t being your normal gross self with Koutarou.” 

Bokuto pouts beside him, “Excuse you, I was still worried about--”

Kenma cuts him off sharply, “Koutarou, I don’t think it would be wise to say any more about the future.” then Kenma’s looking back down at him with a something akin to pity, “This is very much not a dream, by the way, somethings happened but we might be able to undo it.” 

_

The next week is a lot of nothing, they try everything even calling in Akaashi to put him to a trance-like state to see if that reversed anything, it didn’t and Tetsurou never wants to be in that state again. 

They read a lot of books, they stay up all hours, ever since things went down Bokuto’s been acting strange too, not avoiding him per se he’s just not… himself and he gets it he does but it’s a shock that doesn’t help with everything else. 

Kenma starts staying with them in the meantime overusing his eyes almost every day digging around in his mind for any trace of what- who could’ve done this. 

They’re no closer when seemingly, his illness comes back full force, throwing him into a violent sickness nothing like it was before, he can barely move without being sick, can’t open his eyes, ringing fully engulfing his hearing. 

Only getting snip bits of conversation, he knows Bokuto and Kenma and Akaashi are doing everything in their power but he wishes they’d hurry up. 

He’s on what he thinks of day eight when it happens, light floods his vision and burns, and he knows he’s making some kind of noise, and there are hands on him, some holding him down, others rubbing something cold on his chest, there’s voices but he can’t hear. 

And he hurts. 

He’s in agony. 

“Tetsurou you’re okay, we’ve found it, we can get you back.” That’s Kenma’s voice, it’s muffled but he knows that voice anywhere. “You’re going to be fine, okay?” 

“Kuroo-san this is going to hurt a bit,” 

Even the hand in his hair hurts but his arms are too heavy to move, and yet he can’t help but lean into the touch, a wet chuckle sounding from it. 

“Tetsu, this is going to hurt a bit, and then you’ll be back okay? You’re going to be fine.” that’s Bokuto he doesn’t know why he’s crying, he opens his eyes as much as he can and reaches out to him.

“No-crying.” 

Bokuto nods where his face is pressed into his palm, “OK, Yeah no crying.” 

Then there’s counting and pain worse than ever before, worse than this sickness, worse than falling out of a tree and breaking his leg, nothing can be compared to torn apart from the inside out, he doesn’t realize he’s screaming until he can’t anymore, and he’s shallowing blood. 

Then it stops. 

All at once and it’s gone. 

He drifts. 

He blinks his eyes open. 

His vision clears slowly, his stickers on his ceiling coming into view, stars, cats, and tears spring to his eyes, and he’s curling up into a ball. 

They did it. 

He’s back, and it doesn’t hurt anymore. 

He can’t help but scream into his pillow, his ugly red pillow. 

And then he reaches out for his magic and it’s there and it’s bubbling up around him, and he’s holding his breath, and he’s standing in front of his bedroom door, and pulling the door open running down the stairs, and he feels light. 

And he wants to scream at the top of his lungs, but he thinks if he opens his mouth he’ll burst into sobs, so he runs around the house, runs around the backyard, runs around the house again, and such a relief. 

It’s when he finally calms and doesn’t feel like he’ll fall apart when there’s a knock on the door. 

He holds his breath and pops to the front door from the living room and he’ll never take that for granted again, he pulls open the door, and he’s good until he looks up, and it’s like a punch in the gut of… pure unadulterated love. 

“Bokuto.” 

He looks like him, hair spiky and full, and he looks like sunshine, and he wants to bask in it forever, and he’s right there, and he’s so goddamn beautiful. 

He doesn’t think as he launches himself at him knowing he’ll catch him before he has a chance to fall, his legs wrapping around Bokuto’s waist and his arms going around his shoulders. 

And this is his Bokuto. 

There are tears in his eyes and he can’t bring himself to care as he hugs him with all his might.

He almost thinks that Bokuto won’t hug him back, that this is a nightmare. But then arms around his waist, holding him. And there are tears on his skin from Bokuto and he feels alive. Bokuto's holding him with all of his strength almost to the point of activating his powers, and he's holding him so tight and his clumsy hold on his magic feels like home. 

“Kuroo.” 

“Bokuto.” 

“My Bokuto.” 

A wet laugh, “My Kuroo.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, im going to hibernate until tomorrow. 
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated, please give me a reason to keep writing. 
> 
> Until next time-TooAceForThisShit.


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